66% of THE JO-TEL is “losing it Scalia style”

[The following live review was written on my blackberry during the event in question on August 9, 2008.]

The problem with going to an awesome dance if you try to make dance mixes is that you get jealous. Maybe not necessarily because these guys are better than you, but because, well, they must be because their mixes are playing to a throng of drunk kids loosing their shit on the dance floor. Indeed, the ‘Frisco Disco dudes can– how should I say?– rock a party with the hot shit. The Arrow Bar is no more. Long Live The Transfer. …

I’m too drunk remember all the songs I wanted to rem but what’s that song that goes “—– on the dance flkoor. COME ON THE DANCEFLOOR” or something like that. …

No but seriously this the best dp in the world. We sjould go after the hoof @ vtron …

Nobbut seroisly what’s that song thatv oges do you wanna FIND OUT.

King Khan and the Shrines
Jay Reatard
Bradford Cox [FN1]
The Hold Steady

That’s pretty much it. But those four: it needs to stop.

FN1: How long must I look at him with his white sunglasses on doing behind-the-scenes interviews at the Pitchfork festival with …. wait for it … King Khan! Jay Reatard! And more! Okay, but seriously, go to Pitchfork right now and check out the left side internal-plug ad featuring Bradford Cox interviewing Pitchfork bands at the Pitchfork fest. Okay, now I have nothing against the Bon Iver dude. Liked the album from last year. But check how many times that dudes shrugs in the course of answering one question. I count four.

-Shark

The Goose: “You just have to ease it in.”

Turd: (fighting the impulse. fighting the urge)***

The Goose: “You can’t just cram it in there.”

Turd: (can’t fight it) “That’s what she said.” (release)
The Goose: “……..”

***The Goose has effectively banned me from saying “that’s what she said”, even in the situations that are just begging for it. Thus, it is with great personal and professional risk that I continue to fight the good fight for all of humanity’s sake. This malevolent oppression and crackdown has forced me to go underground, and I can no longer engage the forces of Mordor in open battle. But, Triceratops Wearing a Saddle willing, I can pick and choose moments to harass the flanks and bring glory to the cause. Viva La Revolucion.

The Walkmen Are An Indie Rock Band

Nice gratuitous barb from Turd on the Network regarding PETE’s recent and long-winded return-to-form post. CJ is PETE’s gf.
________________________

CJ: How was your day honey?
PETE: Shark mentioned that I haven’t posted on Le Jo-Tel since February of this year, which is like 10 years ago. I of course, during that time period, have had a lot of decent ideas for posts, and have diligently collected interesting links for Sunday Reading posts that never materialized … but you know how it is. So anyhow, last week I made the guarantee to the rest of the Jo-Teliers that I would have a post up within the week. But after a five-month absence I can’t just jump head-first into Top 10 Ethnic Character Actors Not Named Edward James Olmos — that would be suicide. So a little warm-up in the form of a rant about my local Ralphs deli. Most every day at work, my lunch consists of two sandwiches that I make myself on the premises out of constituents purchased at the local Ralphs. Almost always, the makeup is as follows: 2 slices Western Hearth 12-grain bread (though I am considering a permanent change to the Honey Wheatberry variety, due to the lower sodium content (I have high blood pressure, so sue me)) 2 slices Ralphs Select peppered turkey breast. 1 slice Ralphs Select domestic Swiss cheese. 6-8 slices Bianco d’Oro salami (it’s the small kind, hence the many slices) … plus a little yellow mustard. Now, my weekly order is based on the fact that a loaf of WH12GB has 16 slices, meaning 2 sandwiches a day for 4 days (on the fifth day I generally get a burrito or go to the $4.00 Chinese place for the Kung Pao). That being the case, my order at the deli is 16 slices of the turkey, 8 of the Swiss, and a half-pound of the salami, which is generally in the ballpark of how many slices I will need. This is a pretty simple and straightforward order. Up until recently, my Ralphs of choice has been the one located at La Brea and 3rd. They have good deli workers there that know what they are doing in terms of thickness ratios. I generally don’t have to tell them that I’m looking for approximately the same thickness for both the cheese and turkey (between 1 and 1.5 mm on the deli slicer dial), whereas I myself prefer a thinner salami slice because if you cut the salami too thick, your teeth will not properly shear the little pieces and they’ll come sliding out of your sandwich every time you take a bite. I think everyone can identify with how annoying that is. From week to week the thickness of my various sandwich components changes little, and therefore so does the taste of my delicious sandwiches. I enjoy this comforting consistency in a rapidly changing world. Recently, however, it was brought to my attention by my co-worker Michelle, that there is a Ralphs on Wilshire that is slightly closer than the one on La Brea. It also has the added benefit of having my bank, a post office, the Metro customer service center, a newsstand and a Starbucks all on the way. Being the sucker for lunch hour errand-running efficiency that I am, I decided I’d give it a try. I was heartened when I showed up by the immediate and copious availability of baskets, a feature sorely lacking at my normal Ralphs, where I invariably have to walk up and down the line of checkouts to find a single basket abandoned by another customer. I got to the deli and was again heartened to see that they actually seem to adhere to the Now Serving/Take a Number system that at my normal Ralphs is nothing but a conceit, a shallow ruse designed to draw in and confuse the uninitiated (”I took a number … but it’s 61 and the board says Now Serving 32 and there are only two other people here. Oh man, this is heavy. Maybe I’ll just grab a Lunchable.) So I take a number, give my order to the counter man, and walk away to get some snacks for my snack drawer (the envy of my office, and I intend to keep it that way), and also, as it turned out, some grapes. Now, if you work at a deli I imagine you run into lots of orders where its pretty clear that the customer is looking to make some number of equal sandwiches. I’m not the only person who orders by the slice. 2 of this and 1 of that would, I would think, strongly indicate to the deli worker that the customer is looking for a 2-to-1 ratio of this to that in his sandwich. 3 of this, 2 of that, means a 3-to-2 ratio, and so on. It’s not exactly higher math here. So imagine my chagrin when I returned to the office to discover that I had been given 8 mammoth slices of Swiss — and when I say mammoth I mean it. If you got one of these slices of Swiss on a half-pound burger you’d probably be like, “Whoa, easy on the Swiss, there Chef” — and 16 “wafer-thin” slices of turkey. In fact, the 8 slices of Swiss weighed in at .66 lbs., while the 16 turkey slices only .60 lbs. That is fucking high school bullshit, right there. If there is some sort of unspoken code of conduct for deli workers, you know, with stuff like “Don’t forget to pull back the cellophane” and “Try not to slice off your fingertips,” I feel like this dude just ran afoul of it big time. To make matters worse, it looks like I’ll also be short on salami this week because the dude only gave me .44 lbs. Again, it’s not that difficult. If you cut a bunch of salami, weigh it on the scale, and it reads .44 lbs., CUT SOME MORE FUCKING SALAMI.I really didn’t need this this week. I have a lot going on and I need a delicious and nutritious lunch to help pull me through.

I am a lawyer. Sometimes I am annoying. I tell white lies to people like my mom. I am argumentative and frequently cranky. However, one good thing about me is that I can pick up on people’s foibles. Having worked with lots of lawyers, I’ve got me a little list of a few problems that I have with lawyers.

They are stupid.
For example, they don’t know how to turn the ringer off on their cell phones before a deposition. I mean, seriously, I had to show a lawyer how to turn off his ringer. Never mind connecting their laptops to a wireless internet connection. Don’t be fooled, the bar is not difficult to pass.

They have bland senses of humor.
Legal humor. Ugh. “I told Jim that, if he thinks we’re going to defend and indemnify him he’s crazy.” “Jim? Jim Merril?” “No Jim O’Hara over there are Fidor & Carter with Bob Haskins.” “Bob Haskins! Is the bar still letting him practice?” “Last time I checked!” Or: [attorney goes to inbox to retrieve new bar card, turns to associate passing by] “Well, Tom, looks like I’ve fooled them again.” As a result, lawyers like movies like Sweet Home Alabama. No kidding. I once had a judge tell me that Reese Witherspoon was hilarious in Sweet Home Alabama. To my face! (You thought I was kidding didn’t you.)

They are argumentative.
Lawyers will often be very friendly on the surface. But if you ever imply that they’ve missed something or that their intelligence is lacking, you become the singular object of their new pitched battle: you v. the supremacy of their intellect. If you are interested in negotiating with a lawyer, do not make them feel dumb. UNLESS: you can make them feel so dumb that think “oh crap, get me out of this case, and lemme just check my malpractice insurance real quick here… okay, everything things to be in order… good. Now get me out of this case.” I’m not a good enough lawyer to make this happen– so I’ll just opt for being real deferential like.

They are obsessed with details.
Everything’s gotta be perfect with these lawyers. Tiny little details of phrasing are toiled over, but it also seems like, after the fact, the key terms always end up being vague. What does “arising out of the Action” mean anyway? I don’t know but my client’s signature block sure looks pretty.

They want to do a good job.
Annoying, obviously.

They have never heard of Arthur Russell’s World of Echo.
I’d be willing wager that I’m the only licensed attorney in California that has heard of Arthur Russell’s World of Echo. Well, maybe I wouldn’t bet the blog on that. How about: I’m the only lawyer in California that has listened to and enjoyed World of Echo. Man, I am awesome.

The point is, lawyers strongly tend to not deviate from the median tastes of the masses. They like professional sports, bad movies, and going to the mall. They like nice cars and think that houses should be “owned” and “look nice”. And by “look nice”, I mean, “look somewhat off-white with a nice leather couch and some matching throw pillows”. And man do they love those vintage European alcohol posters. Oh man. They like those more than being stupid!

They stay well-groomed all the time.
I’m more just jealous about this than anything. Plus: the world needs ditch-diggers too.

[most lawyers would not click the link to read more] Keep reading →

Patsy and I were watching SNL's Best of John Belushi tonight and she remarked that the Little Chocolate Donuts skit was not that funny.  I may need to file for divorce.

-Shark

So.  I'm finally getting around to reviewing James Murphy's disco-tinged DJ set at Mighty that occurred on August 7, 2008.  Mighty was a good location: the vacuous dance floor filled with indie kids made me think of the raves that I never went to in high school.  Except more mustaches.  I was drunk mind you, and spending most of my time doing a bad job of not getting lost from the group (which included fellow pandorockers Hip E., Andrea S., and T. L. Grogan, Esquire.). 
 
It was a dark and stormy night and Murphy– who, being an analog nut, mixed using only records– bore a strong resemblance to a cuddly teddy bear.  His set was exciting and managed to build to peaks in creative, non-"The Lauch" type ways.  It was mostly disco sounding and pretty seamless although not obsessed with beat-matching.  It maybe could have used a few more familiar cuts (remember dude: people my age didn't care about disco until five months ago).  At the end, the indie kids started throwing a large, real disco ball around.  Hip E. was about the fourth person to catch it and, because it was a disco ball made up of sharp squares of glass, he cut the shit out of his hand.  James Murphy: we are pandorockers; if you prick us, do we not bleed??

-Shark

Robert Altman's Last Supper send-up from M*A*S*H:

The Last Supper:

Does anyone want to talk to the man that smoked a banana skin?

-Reid